


Eye of the Beholder

by PurveyorOfBadPuns



Series: Dean Winchester, Gender Issues, and Self Esteem [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean in Panties, Gen, Gender Identity, Gender Issues, Genderqueer, Genderqueer Character, Genderqueer Dean Winchester, Self Confidence Issues, Women's Underwear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2018-01-02 20:56:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurveyorOfBadPuns/pseuds/PurveyorOfBadPuns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He felt right.  He felt… and oh, it sounded cheesy to say, but he felt beautiful.  For the first time in a long time, he really felt beautiful."</p><p>Is true beauty something that others see in you, or that you see in yourself?  Dean tries on the panties he bought in "No Different" and thinks about his body.  Probably a good idea to read that one first, even if you skip the others in the series (although at least one minor thing won't make sense if you skip "Pronouns").  No spoilers for the show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eye of the Beholder

**Author's Note:**

> So, uh, well. This got sexy. Do with that what you will, shouldn't be overwhelming. Still no particular pairings, spoilers only of the existence of Rhonda Hurley.
> 
> This was gonna be the second half to "No Different," but it got long and to the point where it could stand on its own, and it doesn't really match the spirit of the other one anymore, so I wanted to post it separately.
> 
> (It also needed a different rating, and I wasn't willing to increase the rating of "No Different.")

In trying to be subtle, Sam accidentally stumbled upon the least subtle way possible to give Dean some alone time.  After surviving an entire trip to the mall and the car ride home, they got into the motel room and he kind of just melted into a nervous mess.

"I'm just gonna go get groceries– uh, yeah, you're right, we already did that yesterday, see a movie, uh, oh, I heard that Iron Man III's still playing in the dollar theater down the road bye!" and with that, Sam shut the door and the Impala roared to life.

Dean could understand why Sam was nervous.  It was really weird for him too, at first.  Still was sometimes.  Okay, all of the time.  But, unlike Sam, he couldn't run from it, no matter how much he wished that he could.  He couldn't just run away into a different body that _fit_.  He had to make do with the meatsuit he had.

Alone in the bathroom (locking the door, just in case) Dean stripped down to his bare skin and stared critically into the full-length mirror.  His appearance had never been a thing that brought him pleasure.  Shoulders too broad, hips too slim, and muscles too defined no matter how little exercise he chose to put into them, because hunting was hard work.  Every time Sam asked him to go out running, or lift some weights, or at least do some pushups with him (for his heart, of course) Dean refused, pleading laziness that Sam had come to accept over the years.  It didn't make a difference.  DNA combined with the strength required to dig up graves and brawl with rugarus still made his body hard and powerful.

And for years, that was the aesthetic he strived for.  His dad, girls he slept with, the stupid _world_ ; it was hard to say where this idea of how he should look came from.  Certainly no one ever told him outright.  It never felt good to him, but he threw himself into it wholeheartedly, because it got him so much attention.  He could walk into a bar and pick up any girl there, and when he stumbled home late into the night, smelling of whiskey and some girl's perfume, well, his dad never looked at him so proudly as he did then.

Winchester boys got girls, and John was too old (in his own words) to go running around with every attractive woman to pass him by, so of course he expected his son to follow in his footsteps.  Didn't mean he was celibate, but he certainly didn't get around as much as he used to.

Not as much as Dean did.

And, Dean wouldn't deny it, he really liked sex.  Pleasing women felt good, because in that moment he was important to someone.  Hell, he was their world.  He learned how to make a girl scream his name and claw at the bedsheets, and swear up and down he was the best lay she'd ever had.  He was gentle and attentive, loved learning the exact spots to touch and lick and even bite to get the best reaction from a girl.  He loved seeing the expression of ecstasy on her face as she came undone, loved knowing that he was the one that made it happen.

Afterwards was the part he wasn't supposed to enjoy.  Lying wrapped up in each other in a post-coital haze, warm and sweaty.  If asked, his dad would probably have said that he should leave, that this wash't why _real men_ had sex, but Dean loved it more than anything.  It was soft and good and safe.  He would lie there and whisper sweet nothings into their ears and forget that he had a hard, cold, dangerous life to live once he'd left (or been kicked out of) their various bedrooms, apartments, and houses.

In those moments, for once, no one told him he was wrong (except himself).

Sometimes, though, nothing he could get felt like the right kind of sex.  The spots of him the girls focussed on (his biceps, his well defined abs, his pectorals) were the wrong ones.  They said (and whimpered, and screamed) that he was manly and strong and…

…hard.

But he didn't always want to be hard.  Sometimes he wanted to be soft; soft and sweet.

That was part of what had attracted him to Rhonda.  She'd held him down (though he could've easily thrown off her hundred and ten pound frame) and bitten his neck and called him pretty, _beautiful_.

"Who's my pretty boy?" she'd moan and whisper, fingering the too tight satin that wrapped around his hips.  "You're so beautiful Dean.  Let me put some mascara on those green eyes."

And he knew she didn't mean it in the right way, that for her it _was_ a fetish, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to mind.  In the heat of the moment, his subconscious would just say, _she thinks I'm beautiful_ , and for a little while he wouldn't feel so alien, so _wrong_.

Even though it was fake, something in him would do anything to grasp at that feeling again.  Which was why when Sam asked him if he would like to get some lingerie of his own, he hesitantly agreed.

After contemplating his body for some time, Dean turned away from the mirror to pick up the pink striped bag and dig in to it.  He first pulled out the pink satin panties, and ran his fingers over them before setting them aside for another day.  The black ones as well.  When he got to the forest green ones, he stopped and bent down to slide them on.  They easily slid up over his posterior and his manhood to grip him snugly, but not so tightly as to be uncomfortable (as Rhonda's had been).  After a quick check to make sure everything was in place, he turned around to face the mirror again.

He almost let out a gasp when he saw himself.  The green satin matched his eyes, and seemed to hint at a bit of a curve to his hips where there had been none.

He felt right.  He felt… and oh, it sounded cheesy to say, but he felt beautiful.  For the first time in a long time, he really felt beautiful.

Dean Winchester was a self conscious person, a person taught over his thirty four years to abhor and hide that which was different in himself.  Seeing himself like this made him, as odd as it might sound, feel normal.  Like all the other people out there whose bodies fit the right way.

He slid on his jeans, distressed with years of use, and a plain black T-shirt and an olive button down, rolling up the sleeves to his elbows almost automatically.  Unlocking the door, he left the privacy of the bathroom, discreetly sliding one finger under his waistband to run along the top edge of the underwear.  He shivered, realizing that this was real, this was happening, and it was something that was his.  He sat down on the bed and leaned back against the headboard, still aware of the cool feel of satin, and fumbled for the remote.

He thought he saw Love Actually on pay-per-view.  Whatever, Sam wasn't here, he was gonna do something "girly."

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: My personal headcannon, based on what I observe in the show, is that Dean Winchester is genderqueer. However, I am not saying that he actually is, as that is something that cannot be decided by a third party, and I would only be convinced that he is canonically genderqueer if he said something on the show. I hope that my portrayal offends no one, since although a lot of it was taken from experiences of friends who are genderqueer, I myself am not. If you find something you disagree with, by all means let me know! I like to learn from my mistakes.


End file.
